All Chapters of The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return: Chapter 141 - Chapter 150

Chapter 142Nikolai’s POVAfter Cynthia told me what Matilda had done—how she had cornered her, threatened her with that barely veiled cruelty she hid behind a professional smile—I knew two things with absolute certainty.First, Matilda had crossed a line she would not be allowed to uncross.Second, this situation would not resolve itself quietly if I ignored it.I had tolerated Matilda far longer than I should have. Her persistence, her entitlement, the way she behaved as if proximity alone entitled her to affection—it had always made me uncomfortable, but I had dismissed it as harmless delusion. A nuisance. Something that would eventually fade if I kept my boundaries firm and my distance clear.But threatening Cynthia?That was unforgivable.Cynthia was already carrying enough weight—emotional, psychological, public. The last thing she needed was some delusional woman projecting her obsession onto her and daring to intimidate her. The rage that had settled in my chest when Cynthia to

Chapter 144 Ethan's POV I had dropped Hayden too quickly and too roughly when I'd first seen Anna submerged in that bathtub. The panic had overridden everything else. All I'd seen was Anna's lifeless body beneath the water, and my brain had shut down every other instinct except save her. Now, as I dragged her soaking, limp form out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, laying her carefully on the floor because the bed felt too far, too slow. Hayden cried tirelessly. I felt so bad, she could be crying for two reasons, the neglect she has been experiencing and the sight of seeing her mother on the floor, looking completely lifeless. I understood exactly how that felt because I felt as terrible. I glanced back and saw her in the doorway of the bathroom, tiny hands braced against the frame, her legs shaking as she tried to stand. She'd crawled part of the way, then forced herself upright, wobbling unsteadily on toddler legs that weren't meant to carry this much fear. Sh

Chapter 146 Ethan’s POV The moment I ended the call with child services and sent them the address, my hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone. I stood there for a second in the dim hallway outside Anna’s apartment, breathing hard, trying to slow my racing thoughts. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a steel band around my ribs and kept tightening it with every new revelation. None of this made sense, and yet all of it did. I walked out of the building in a daze, the cold air hitting my damp skin like a slap. I hadn’t even realized how soaked my shirt was from pulling Anna out of the tub and performing CPR. My shoes squelched slightly as I crossed the pavement toward my car. I opened the driver’s door and slid inside, shutting it with more force than necessary. The familiar scent of leather and cologne should have grounded me, but it didn’t. My pulse was still pounding violently, my mind replaying Hayden’s small body hitting the floor, the dull sound it ma

Chapter 148Cynthia's POVNathaniel didn't waste time with pleasantries when I met him downstairs after he'd sent me a message barely ten minutes into what was supposed to be my attempt at rest.His expression was grim, focused — the kind of look that meant he'd been piecing together a puzzle in his head and had finally found the missing corner piece."I've figured out our guy who is responsible for the restaurant sabotage," he said the moment I stepped into the foyer. "The Walker Industries implosion—and by extension, the person who tried to kill you."The words hit me so hard I actually stopped breathing."What? For real? Who?"My voice came out strangled, barely audible, like my throat had forgotten how to form sound.Nathaniel opened his mouth to continue, but movement at the top of the staircase caught both our attention.Our mother, Victoria.She stood there, one hand resting delicately on the banister, her eyes sharp and curious as they flicked between us. She didn't say anythin

Chapter 150 Ethan's POV "I owe you no explanation, Ethan." My mother's voice was sharp, deliberate, cutting through the air between us with surgical precision. She turned away from me, her movements graceful and unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. Like we hadn't just been seconds away from something explosive. Like my son wasn't upstairs crying his heart out while my dog lay dead on the couch. "Just go on and take care of your son," she added dismissively, already moving toward the hallway. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind screaming at me to stop her—to demand answers, to force her to finish what she'd started. But she was gone. The click of her heels faded down the corridor, then disappeared entirely as a door closed somewhere in the depths of the house. Silence crashed back in. I stared at the empty doorway, my hands still clenched into fists at my sides, my pulse hammering so violently I could feel it in my temples. What the hell just happened? W